


Cahoots

by somebodys_dog



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 08:25:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somebodys_dog/pseuds/somebodys_dog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the dastardly kinds of togetherness to be, cahoots was by far the worst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cahoots

They had tried everything. Separately, at first. Sybil had tried the infamous smile that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and had probably accounted for the very few evenings Sam actually stayed  _in_. Vetinari, in his turn, had sent several of the deadliest under his employ on a mission to make the streets of the city incredibly uneventful. Both of them had made verbal appeals, both of which Sam shrugged off, though considerably more politely in the case of his wife.  
  
"I've had worse," he had stated while lacing hissandal haphazardly over a heavily bandaged leg, wincing every time he bent too far toward those bruised ribs, "no criminal element has ever put me off patrols."  
  
"Sam," Sybil had pleaded, and he kissed her for comfort.  
  
"Your Grace," Vetinari had addressed down his nose, and he flexed his fists before marching out of the office.  
  
Now, they convened. The Patrician had made a personal call upon the half-inhabited Vimes estate, and the conspiracy had begun the moment he had been greeted. It took only half an hour of planning to devise the quickest route. It was only a touch more devilish than Sybil might have chosen on her own, but Havelock's reassuring, bound-for-Hell-anyway smile had a way of swaying her even when they were young.  
  
And so it was that the commander of the Watch found himself turning a corner near the Shades -- he'd practically had to go  _looking_ for trouble tonight, despite his promises not to -- when the first, unbearably loud crackling began. With the instincts of a true copper,his hand was at the hilt of his sword and he took one sharp step backward into a thick blanket of shadow before looking directly up. That's how they got you. You looked everywhere but up, and it was  _always_  an attack from above.  
  
But this time he saw nothing. That is, not until he squinted toward the shapes on a  distant roof, blurry little outlines of two figures and some...giant contraption. And their voices -- so amplified he could hear them from here, though they sounded tinny and strangely hollow.  
  
"I -- how does this work again?"  
  
"You speak into the mouthpiece here, and -- yes, that's right, your voice travels up through these tubes here, and out through the large funnel hear, and the sound -- er, well, it bounces all around until it gets loud enough for everyone in this half of the city to hear. I call it my Make Your Voice Extremely Loud So As To Communicate Across Long Distances Device."  
  
"Er...oh. And I just read this card -- what? No. No, I can't say that, he'll kill me."  
  
"I have been assured that that will, er, not happen."  
  
"Well he'll string me up by my toenails and that's not a lot better."  
  
"I am sure that will not be allowed."  
  
"How did I get put to this, anyway?"  
  
"As I understand it, the, er, members of the university voted you least likely to be missed."  
  
"What? I'll have you know Cruel and Unusual Geography is an invaluable subject!"  
  
"If you would please, er, just read the card -- my instructions were very clear."  
  
"I don't -- I'll really die this time, you know. I really will. And I've spent my whole life avoiding it."  
  
"The card, erm, if you please."  
  
There was a heavy sigh. Vimes was already cringing.  
  
A deep breath, then: " _Would His Grace, His Excellency, The Duke of Ankh; Sir Samuel Vimes, beloved father and most notable member of the highly acclaimed city watch, and_  -- what's this? Er --  _Blackboard Monitor of distinct integrity, please report to his home. An emergency of state requires his presence immediately_. I can't -- he's really going to kill me, do you understand?"   
  
"The rest of the card, if you please."  
  
" _This message will be repeated every five minutes until His Grace is located. Thank you for your cooperation. I would also like to state that I in no way volunteered for this job, and don't shoot the messenger, and if you're going to shoot the messenger it's only fair to give him a ten minute head start._ "  
  
"I...don't believe that's on the card."  
  
"Forfeiting my life isn't on the card either, but there you have it."  
  
It didn't have to finish. Sam was already running in the direction of the estate, helmet pulled low. Well, hobbling, as that seemed the best he could do with his leg in a splint and half the time spent clutching his side. One thing was certain: She hadn't acted alone. No one got old Leonard out without Vetinari's involvement. She had help.  
  
They were in  _cahoots_. Of all the dastardly kinds of togetherness to be, cahoots was by far the worst.  
  
The scowl on his face when he found them in the sitting room, smug as two bugs in a really, really  _evil_ rug was one for the record books. And as if things couldn't possibly be any worse, that man, that half-smiling man drinking out of the fine china as gentlemanly as could be, was sitting in his chair. Sam's chair.

"Of all the completely unnecessary ina-- are you -- is that -- are you wearing nurse's hats?"  
  
Without batting an eye, the Patrician took another, polite sip of tea, the little pink cap tipping on his head just slightly in the process. "We thought," he explained with hitherto unheard of dignity for such a bizarre situation, while Sybil covered her quite giggle with her fingers, "it would lighten the mood. Alas, I could not acquire the full costumes on such short notice, I'm afraid. Dear Lady Sybil and I were only just discussing how difficult it is to find such odd measurements as ours ready-made."  
  
"That's the most ridiculous thing I've..." But he trailed off, glancing to his wife.  She'd always looked fetching in pink, and now that Vetinari had planted the image in his mind there was no shaking it off. Damn that man. "I'll--"  
  
"You'll just have a seat," Havelock interrupted smoothly, setting his cup and saucer quietly on the low table before him, "and I think I'll fetch more tea." Before turning toward the kitchen, he paused for a moment, standing far too regally for the circumstances, and pointedly adjusted the little pillbox hat atop his head.  
  
"I hate you," Vimes grumbled, resigning himself hopelessly to his then-abandoned chair.  
  
"No, you do not," came the reply from halfway down the hall.  
  
Sybil was already at his arm, carefully sliding his helmet from his head and pressing such a soft kiss to the line of his jaw that a flush began to creep out from behind his ears.  
  
"You know," she spoke kindly, deftly popping the first button of his uniform back through its hole,  "I really think you don't."


End file.
